


Conversations

by FaerieChild



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruth Evershed goes out for coffee and inadvertently bumps into Harry's children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations

Ruth Evershed was sitting in the window of coffee shop in Soho, staring out the window. Two women passed outside, chatting so busily that they didn't think so much as glance in before the door chimes went and they entered and went straight to the counter.

It was half past nine on a Sunday morning and Ruth had a day off. She had long been an early riser due to her work hours and after waking early yet again on her day off had decided to go out and have a cup of tea and an hour to herself in a coffee shop. A book was held open before her, but the manner of the conversation between the two women caught her ear and she turned her head slightly, pretending to still read as their words drifted across the nearly empty space of the seating area.

“No, Mum, I swear. He's completely besotted with her.”

“Your father was never besotted with anyone but his own penis in the entire course of his life. I don't know why you still see him. Graham, at least, has seen sense.”

Ruth's ears twitched. It couldn't be, surely?

“He's not that bad, Mum. In fact he can be quite sweet – in a grumpy, overbearing sort of way.”

“Catherine, I do not want to spend our entire morning talking about your father.”

Catherine shut up long enough for her mother to order tea for two, a cheese scone and a fruit scone with jam and butter for both.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ruth could see Catherine waiting, her lips pressed together, while her mother set the tray down and arranged the cups, tea pot and the plates and cutlery. There was no doubting it, that was Harry's daughter which meant the older woman with her must be her mother. Harry's ex-wife, Jane Townsend.

“What's her name?”

Catherine smiled. “You just can't resist, can you?”

“My darling daughter, excuse me if I would like a little more information about the woman.”

“Ruth. Her name is Ruth.”

“And what does 'Ruth' do, exactly?”

“I think they work together.” Catherine shrugged.

“Ah,” Jane nodded. “That explains a thing or two.”

“Does it?”

“A smart woman in a short skirt. Honestly, Catherine, your father could never resist a honeytrap. He's a hopeless case. Its a wonder they ever gave him any work at all!”

“Mum!”

“Well I'm sorry, Catherine, but...”

“You haven't even met her!” Catherine exclaimed. “Besides, as far as I know they're not actually dating.”

“Yes, Catherine, and there's a word for that!”

Ruth was sat rigidly still, staring at her book as she listened to Jane Townsend cast insinuations upon her. Watching them out of the corner of her eye, Ruth slowly turned around. Jane and Catherine were sitting a couple of tables away in the sparsely populated seating area. Quickly Ruth turned back to face the window and took a sip of tea.

“No, Mum, that's not what I mean. I'll ask him something and he'll say, 'I'm not sure, Ruth would know,' or we'll be chatting and he'll casually drop in a, 'Ruth always says...'. I swear he thinks about her all the time, which isn't like Dad at all.”

The doorbell tinkled and a young man stepped inside, ordered a latte and plonked himself down at the empty seat at the table.

Catherine grinned and exclaimed, “Graham!”

Jane smiled at her son and patted his shoulder.

“What're we talking about then?”

“Dad,” Catherine chimed. “Mister Pearce Senior. Which reminds me...”

From her window seat, Ruth was able to watch the goings on from their reflection in the window. She could see Graham rolling his eyes. “Look, he can be a bit of a wanker. I don't like his company. Doesn't mean I want him dead, does it? Why would I go to all the bother of changing my name?”

“We're supposed to be a family, Graham. I just think it would be nice if we all had the same name.”

“So that's what's important, when it comes to family, is it? Not spending time with each other, not having a laugh, not having your back...its all in a name!” Graham spat out his contempt with the words.

“You know I didn't mean it like that.”

“Look, not that I want to spend all morning talking about it, but I am the first to admit our Dad's far from perfect. Whatever I do is always wrong. It always was. I can't do right for doing wrong around him, and I'm fed up with it. But I know even if we haven't talked in a decade if I rang him up at five o'clock on a Sunday morning OD'd out of my mind and plastered on the floor of the back room of some dirty Vauxhall club he would drop everything and come pick me up. Now don't get me wrong, I can't stand the fucker. But he'll turn up anywhere, any time, against anyone and that takes bollocks.”

“Mind your language, Graham,” Jane chided. “I brought you up better than that. And you know perfectly well I don't want to hear any of those sordid goings on.”

“The truth too painful for you, Mum? Your son's a homo. Get used to it.”

“Graham!” Catherine joined in. 

Graham got up and pushed his chair out. “Do you know what. I'm going to take that coffee to go. Nice seeing you.”

“Graham,” Jane stood up. She looked after her son but he was already out the door. She sat down. Not sure that she could stand to hear much more of the family drama, Ruth quietly slipped her book into her bag and downed the last of her tea. In one smooth move she picked up her coat and handbag and made for the door, not daring to turn around for a last glance at Catherine and Jane.

Once outside, Ruth saw the coat and followed it down the street and around the corner until she reached the park in Soho Square Gardens. A familiar young man was sitting on a park bench inside the gate.

“This seat taken?”

Graham shook his head and stared out over the small patch of grass and trees.

Ruth stared out as well. 

Something about her manner must have chimed with Graham because the first thing he said was, “Is this where you tell me you work for my father?”

“With your father, Graham and I'm not here on his behalf.”

“Oh? And how am I supposed to believe that?”

Ruth shrugged, “Its none of my business what you believe, Graham. I just wanted to introduce myself.”

“What's your name?”

“Ruth. Ruth Evershed.”

Grahams stance chance. His shoulders opened slightly, his face relaxed. “Catherine's mentioned you. Says Dad talks about you all the time. So what is it? Do you and him have a thing?”

“Something like that. Believe it or not I was just out for coffee. You might consider that a coincidence but I've been in this line of work for too long to believe in coincidences.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mentioned to your father the other day that I was on the lookout for a new coffee shop and he recommended it. Its always lovely and quiet on a Sunday morning, apparently,” Ruth smiled a rueful smile.

Graham stared out over the park and said nothing in return.

“What do you do, Graham?”

“A bit of this, bit of that. I help out a few mates, you know, at the theatre. Stagehand stuff. I pull a few pints and sometimes I...” Graham glanced sideways at Ruth, “I do the odd show, you know.”

“Oh,” Ruth sat up straighter, “Harry loves the theatre!”

“More clubs, really. Soho. Drag. That sort of stuff.” Graham's words aimed at casual but his body language was anything but casual. Stiff, tense, anxious.

Ruth paused for a moment to process this.

“...if he ever wants to come.”

“Sorry?”

“The club, its in Soho...if he ever wants to come.”

Graham stopped, stood up and then turned around. “Nice to meet you, Ruth.”

It wasn't really Ruth's place, but she imagined it wasn't impossible that one day this man would be her step son and something in her forced her to stand up and put a hand on his arm. “Look, I know its not my place but...he does care about you, Graham, and he worries about you and I know the two of you don't get along but I know he'd love to hear from you. Even if its just a text once a month letting him know you're still alive.”

“I'll think about it. Good luck with Dad, yeah?” And with that he was gone, out the park and around the corner behind a hedge.

 

Ruth decided not to mention the odd encounter to Harry. Upon reflection she realised that Harry had probably had the recommendation from Catherine, who may even have hoped that Harry himself would turn up although Ruth knew that only a single mention that Catherine sometimes met her mother there would be enough to turn Harry off the establishment. She did, however, find herself softening to Harry himself a bit. It seemed different now, having met his family. Ruth had always imagined any potential relationship as being a lonely one, the two of them against the rest of the world. Ruth only realised now that if they ever did take the steps towards formalising their relationship in some way, shape or form she would be inheriting two adult children and, perhaps, could play a role in bringing them a bit closer together.

Six weeks or so later, Ruth was doing her turn on a Sunday shift which, mysteriously, Harry had also pencilled himself in for. She watched him emerge from his office heading for the kitchenette and considered again whether to ask him out for dinner. In spite of everything there was still something there, something that Ruth was not ready to let go of yet but she didn't know how to take the next step without moving too quickly. Dinner seemed too much, but a chat over coffee was too much like work. Harry liked opera, Ruth preferred plays. Maybe there was something neutral they could go and enjoy together?

Ruth heard the kettle start to boil and then the beep-beep of a text message arriving on his phone.

Moments later, Harry's head appeared at her desk. His face was flushed and he looked like he had taken ill. His blood pressure must have shot up and he was short of breath and panting.

“Ruth, I think something's wrong,” Harry said urgently.

“Harry what is it? Calm down. Here, have a seat.”

“No, no, there's no time. Look,” Harry thrust his phone in her face. On it was displayed a text from an unknown number with three simple words. 'I'm not dead,' and signed off 'Graham'. Something niggled in Ruth's brain as she stared at it until the penny dropped.

“Oh my God!”

“Ruth, I need to know if we have any chatter. I think he's been kidnapped!”

“No, no, he's fine. I...well, I met him.”

“Sorry?”

Ruth wrung her hands together. “That coffee shop you recommended. I don't suppose you got the recommendation from Catherine? Your daughter?”

“How did you know that?”

Ruth raised her eyebrows.

“She was there, wasn't she?”

“And Jane and Graham.”

“Ruth, I'm so sorry,” Harry shook his head, “If I'd had any idea I never would have said anything.”

“No, Harry its fine. I mean, they talked about you, a bit and then Graham stormed out on them.”

“He...” Harry was lost for words. “He spoke to you? How...how did he look?”

“Good. Healthy.”

“Hungover?”

“Not so much.”

“Good,” Harry nodded. “Good.”

Ruth decided Harry looked like he was about to fall down and so pulled a chair over from a nearby empty desk and Harry half sat, half collapsed into it. “Actually he waltzed out in a fit of pique over something Catherine said and I followed him to Soho Square Gardens. He was sitting there by myself and I decided to introduce myself. He had defended you, you know, to his Mum. Catherine wanted to know why he wouldn't change his name and he said...well, he said...he said he didn't want you dead.”

Harry snorted. “Believe it or not, that's an improvement.”

Ruth saw Harry's hands twitch and then fist themselves. She wondered if she should reach out and reassure him but she wasn't sure if that would be welcome. “I hope you don't think I was too forwards in speaking to him.”

“He probably thought I was spying on him,” Harry harumphed.

“Yes,” Ruth agreed. “And you and I are going to discuss why that might be later, but then I told him that it would mean a lot to you if he got in touch and then I said, 'Even if it's just a text once a month letting him know you're not dead'.”

All of Harry's breath escaped his body. “He got in touch?”

“Yes,” Ruth smiled, “He did.”

A large male hand reached out towards Ruth before jerking itself back. Ruth, however, was starting to wonder if the time wasn't right to be a bit braver about where this might all be going and met him half way, sliding her hand against his and it was gripped instantly by Harry who brought it to his knee as he stared at his phone. “Ruth...”

Ruth cleared her throat.

Harry clung to her hand for long seconds before suddenly dropping it. He abruptly stood up, thanked Ruth and headed back to his office.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Ruth witnessed Harry checking his phone many times, always when he thought no one was looking. Ruth would be prepared to bet good money that he was looking at the text from his son and when he once asked her to send a text off to Adam from his phone, she couldn't help but notice that Graham had been added to Harry's phone book. 

It was unusual, Ruth couldn't help but note, for Harry to trust his phone to anyone and he was rather moved Harry had entrusted it to her. As an experiment, for her own sake and Harry's, Ruth began to make more of a concerted effort to be open to him. To meet his gaze, to smile, to touch his hand. Always he would stop to acknowledge the gesture, no matter how busy, even for the briefest of moments. He would linger in his office until she packed up at night and time his departure to hers. He would hover attentively at the lift if they arrived together in the morning. Everything about his manner displayed his interest and one night Ruth bit the bullet and invited him home. It was late and it was dark and everyone else had gone home and after several long moments of strained silence, Ruth blurted out an ungainly, “I wondered if you would like to come over?”

Ruth saw hope light Harry's eyes and she blushed at the attention. “For dinner, I mean. If you haven't eaten. I have Moroccan chicken sitting in the slow cooker and a bottle of Shiraz sitting in the fridge. I'm sorry, they probably don't even go together.”

“It sounds lovely, Ruth. If I'm welcome.”

“You're always welcome, Harry,” Ruth smiled softly.

“Let me give you a lift?”

Ruth nodded, nervously. This was a big step for her. She wasn't in the habit of dating often and this wasn't someone who she could dump and never worry about seeing again. This was Harry, her boss, the man she had previously turned down, the man she had always had something of a frisson with and the only man she'd ever considered committing to for the rest of her life. There was a lot of water under that bridge, a lot of grief, and there was a lot more at stake here than a bottle of cheap supermarket wine.

With a certain amount of trepidation Ruth accepted the offer of a lift and they pulled up outside her flat. Harry waited at a respectful distance, allowing her to open up the door and letting them both inside and then Ruth decided that he was too far away and took his hand and pulled him through to the kitchen. She smiled and set Harry to work laying the table as Ruth herself put on some cous cous and spooned the Moroccan chicken from the slow cooker into a suitable dish for serving.

Ruth poured them a glass of wine each. Harry took off his tie and jacket and laid them over the back of his chair. Conversation settled into a discussion about music until Ruth had to get up and fetch the cous cous for serving and Harry got up with her and put a hand on her waist as he stood behind her at the kitchen worktop.

Ruth turned in his arms and Harry kissed her, a sweet gentle kiss on the corner of her mouth and then when Ruth turned her head towards his it turned into a proper full mouthed kiss on the lips.

Ruth was the first to pull back but she cupped his cheek as Harry's hand sat on her waist. 

“Is this ok?” Harry asked.

“More than ok.”

“Why now?”

“I was fed up of waiting. I realised there would never be a good time and...I suppose bumping into your children made me realise everything I was missing out on. That we were missing out on.”

“Is there a 'we'?” Harry asked carefully.

“I want there to be,” Ruth replied.

“I want that too,” Harry smiled. He watched her as she slipped out of his arms to serve the dinner and talk about the children and if, some weeks later, Ruth dragged Harry to a gay club in Soho for their second date, well, that was just between them. 

~

Author's Note: I shared this with a couple of folks and got positive feedback on it so I'm posting it. If I've missed any typos or pronoun slips let me know. I may write more in this universe, I think there is more to be written but this felt like the right place to leave this one at the moment and I want to keep chipping away (albeit slowly) at Regency.


End file.
